A Mortal’s Immortal Gourd
Chapter 4: Delirious Dreams

Ergouzi lay on the ground for a long time, gasping, before finally struggling to stand up.

His whole body throbbed with pain; it felt like his ribs were broken.

He reached into his jacket—thankfully, the yellow gourd was still there.

He opened the lid and gulped down several mouthfuls of water. His body immediately felt a little better.

He didn’t know if it was just his imagination, but every time he drank water from the gourd, it felt like strength returned to him.

With this mysterious gourd in his hand, as long as he could survive this ordeal, rising to power and becoming a rich landowner wasn’t just a dream.

But how was he supposed to survive the present?

He stood in the snow, surrounded by darkness in all directions—where was he supposed to go?

He didn’t even need to think—he knew exactly what Uncle’s family had in mind.

Throwing him out into the snow was the same as a death sentence.

Not only did he have no food or water, but with the freezing cold and nowhere to shelter from the wind and snow, he’d freeze to death for sure.

Every winter, beggars froze to death by the roadside. He wasn’t any more cold-resistant than they were.

And now, he was injured on top of that.

It was almost certain death.

Uncle’s family had played it smart—they didn’t want to carry the reputation of beating their nephew to death.

Just toss Ergouzi out to freeze, squeeze out a few fake tears when he died, dig a random hole and bury him—problem solved.

After eight years of being their dog, now he was going to die like one.

His only chance now was the small patch of rice he had planted on the mountain.

At least there he had something to eat, and he could scavenge some firewood to make a fire and stay warm.

Having made up his mind, Ergouzi staggered toward the mountain, following the creek by the faint light of the snowy night.

He trudged through the snow, stumbling with every step. Not long after, he collapsed face-first into the ground.

Pain shot through his body, especially his chest and ribs—it felt like he couldn’t even breathe.

He lay there, powerless, and really wanted to just give up and die there.

But in the end, he forced himself up again. He didn’t want to die.

And so, with frequent stumbles and constant falls, he crawled on.

Every time he wanted to give up, he would touch the yellow gourd and imagine himself someday owning a hundred acres of fertile land, living in a big tile-roofed house, wearing thick cotton jackets, eating fatty pork every day, rinsing his mouth with honey water…

Then he would take a big gulp of the gourd’s water, and strength would return to him.

By dawn, driven by his longing for a better future, Ergouzi finally crawled up the mountain.

In the middle of a vast white snowy landscape, a patch of thriving rice stood out in stark contrast.

The rice had already headed and begun filling with grain—the heavy ears drooped low.

Ergouzi plucked a few grains from the ears, husks and all, and chewed them slowly.

The rice wasn’t fully ripe yet—it burst slightly as he chewed, with a light, sweet aroma.

Though the husks were rough and scraped his throat, it still tasted a thousand times better than pig feed.

He gnawed through over a dozen ears, filling his belly and regaining some strength.

Resisting the urge to stop and rest, he cleared a patch of snow-covered ground and scattered more raw rice grains pulled from the ears.

Then he poured all the water from his gourd over the new seeds.

The rice he had grown so far wouldn’t last more than a few days—he had to plant more immediately.

Luckily, the heavy snow and New Year’s holiday meant no one would come up the mountain—he didn’t have to worry about being discovered.

His food problem was temporarily solved, but surviving the cold was another matter.

Thankfully, from years of chopping firewood in the mountains, he knew the terrain well. Not far from here, there was a spot sheltered from the wind.

It was a stone hollow, surrounded on two sides by large boulders that blocked most of the cold wind.

He gathered a small pile of firewood nearby, picked out some dry grass and leaves, rubbed them together for kindling, and made a small heap.

Then he pulled two thumb-sized reddish stones from his jacket.

These were called firestones—when struck together, they produced sparks and could be used to start a fire.

There were plenty of these on a nearby barren hill. Locals all used them to light fires.

Holding a firestone in each hand, Ergouzi struck them together. Tiny sparks flew from the stones.

After dozens of strikes, the sparks finally caught the leaves and kindling.

A small fire flared to life. He held his frozen hands and feet over the flames, slowly warming up, the heat spreading through his whole body.

At that moment, he felt this stone hollow was actually quite nice—better than living at Uncle’s house.

Sitting by the fire, he finally had time to open his jacket and check his injuries.

His face was swollen like a pig’s head, and bruises covered his body.

The worst was his ribs—any touch hurt, and even breathing was painful. He didn’t know if they were broken.

But aside from the pain, it didn’t seem life-threatening.

He had heard that if a broken rib punctured the lungs or heart, you’d die quickly.

His condition probably wasn’t that bad yet.

He sat by the fire and dried the stalks stripped of their rice heads. Once softened, he laid them over himself as makeshift blankets, though there weren’t quite enough of them.

Just as he started warming up, his stomach began growling again.

What a nuisance—this stomach was totally unreliable, needing food twice a day.

He’d heard that some oxen and horses could work all day without eating much feed.

And that there were immortals in this world who didn’t need to eat at all.

If only he had powers like an immortal—he’d never have to worry about going hungry again.

Wait, if he were really like an immortal, why worry about food at all? He’d be eating meat every meal, rinsing his mouth with honey water, using gold bowls and chopsticks, marrying ten wives, and having a dozen kids.

Even Huang Laocai would drool with envy.

In Ergouzi’s limited world, the richest man was Huang Laocai.

He couldn’t even imagine a life richer than that of Huang Laocai.

He’d heard the county magistrate was like an immortal—he could summon rice, pork, eggs, fish, and wine out of thin air…

His mind wandered as he grabbed the gourd again and took a big gulp of water.

This yellow gourd was so miraculous—maybe it really was an immortal’s treasure.

For dinner, he picked a few more rice ears and roasted them over the fire.

As the rice heated up, it crackled and popped. The grains inside burst open into white puffs of rice, giving off a rich aroma.

To pop the rice well, the fire had to be small, and it required quick reflexes.

Holding two sticks, he snatched the rice puffs the moment they popped.

Otherwise, they’d quickly burn in the fire, turning into black charcoal—wasteful and bitter.

He roasted a whole batch without burning a single grain, blew off the ash, and tossed them into his mouth.

“So good!”

The rice puffed and crunched between his teeth—fragrant and crisp, ten times better than Uncle’s pork.

Too bad he didn’t have much grain. He only ate four rice ears for dinner, afraid to eat more.

There was still a long winter ahead, and he needed to save some seeds.

He wasn’t full, but he could drink more water to trick his stomach. It wasn’t like he was some rich landowner—it would be a waste to eat that much.

That night, he leaned against the fire, hugging a bundle of straw, and barely got some sleep.

Several times, he had just dozed off when the fire went out, and he was jolted awake by the cold, throwing on more wood before sleeping again.

Drifting in and out of sleep like that, he finally made it to dawn.

Stretching his body, he found that the pain didn’t seem as bad anymore.

Especially his chest—it felt much better now.